


Creep

by incognitoburrito



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Bottom Bill Cipher, Cheating, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, Heartbreak, High School Prom, Homosexuality, Human Bill Cipher, I'm Sorry, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Manipulative Bill Cipher, Not Happy, Oral Sex, Prom, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sex, Social Anxiety, Social Awkwardness, Sorry Not Sorry, Substance Abuse, Top Bill Cipher, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Underage substance abuse, Vers Bill Cipher, angsty, rough anal sex, underage everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitoburrito/pseuds/incognitoburrito
Summary: Bill Cipher, a popular high school student secretly struggling with alcohol and drug addiction, asks Dipper Pines, his socially awkward and extremely shy classmate, out to prom.(That's all I can say without spoiling too much.)





	1. Let's Go on a Joyride in My Lexus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlovesForThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlovesForThis/gifts).



> Hello! This is a new Billdip fic I've been wanting to write for a while, but I've never known how to do it. Now it's here, and I'm really excited for you guys to read it. This is my very first Gravity Falls fic, by the way. Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. If you've read my Big Hero 6 fics, you'll know that this fic will probably have slow updates. I'm sorry.
> 
> P.S. P.S. This work is a gift to GlovesForThis because I've really been enjoying their fic "Red Right Hand." If you haven't read it yet, shame on you. It's the best Billdip fic on the internet!
> 
> Edit: This fic is based on the Radiohead song "Creep." [See the lyrics here.](https://genius.com/Radiohead-creep-lyrics)

# 1 | Let’s Go on a Joyride in My Lexus

## DIPPER

Socialization is a mystery to me.

My entire life has been one giant awkward moment, made longer only by the beating of my heart. People are poison, the word “hello” is a syringe, and I refuse to be injected. I’ve become skilled at dodging conversations, avoiding human communication, ducking before the bullet of interaction strikes. Therefore, I’ve also developed a resting “fuck-off” face and my giant black headphones have become an extension of my body.

 I’m the weird kid that prefers to take solitude inside the confines of my bedroom, voraciously binge-reading novels and scientific journals to feed my brain that is always starving for useless knowledge. I’ve never spent time with anyone outside of school. I’ve never been to a sleepover. I’ve never attended any school dances. I’ve never gone to any sports games. I’ve never been to a party.

Hiding from the world is my superpower.

I take great pride in the inability to interact with other human beings. I don’t understand extroverts’ needs to talk to as many people as they possibly can. It’s disgusting.

As I walk down the poisonous hallways of my hellhole high school, I glance at the posters advertising this year’s prom with amusement. Shoot me if I ever decide to attend. I’d rather spend time inside listening to _Panic! At The Disco_ while mulling over Japanese texts to test my reading proficiency, or far exceeding my daily Duolingo goal.

I press the power button on my phone once and the screen illuminates, revealing an image of my twin sister Mabel and I at our sixteenth birthday, throwing cake in each other’s faces. My thumb repeatedly taps the “Skip” button on the lock screen music player until I reach “Disco Girl” by BABBA. The familiar intro plays, calming my hyperactive mind as I make my way to my locker.

23, 11, 09. I mentally repeat these numbers in my head as I twist and turn the dial on my lock, then pull down to pop it open and open my locker. It’s pretty bland; two pictures of Mabel and I, and a magnetic whiteboard. My backpack hangs on the single hook. I sling it across my shoulder and close it.

My phone buzzes. Mabel has sent me a text:

[ **02:34 pm** ] waiting for you at the front entrance!

I reply:

[ **02:34 pm** ] I’ll be there soon

I make my way to the large doors of the school and, sure enough, Mabel is standing there waving her arms enthusiastically, signature pink shooting star sweater on, jumping up and down. The sight of her makes me smile.

“Dipper!” she exclaims. “Walk home with me! I have great gossip!”

I roll my eyes. “Mabel, you know I don’t talk to people. How is this relevant to me?”

She giggles. “It’s about you!” Before I can say anything, she takes my wrist and we’re dashing out of the building.

A queasy feeling settles in my stomach and my heart sits in my throat. “What?! Mabel, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I heard that someone likes you!” She responds with her usual giddy voice.

I almost laugh. “Mabel, I’m invisible. Nobody at that school knows I fucking exist! And I’d rather keep it that way!”

Mabel groans, but I can tell she’s not mad. “ _Ugh,_ come on, Dippy! Have some fun for once!”

“I _do_ have fun writing fanfictions at 3 am.”

She gives me a disgusted look. “Boy, you gotta get out more.”

“No, I really don’t,” I say.

She seems to ignore my response as she pulls me behind a large tree. “You know Bill Cipher?”

I bite my lip and heat rushes to my cheeks at his name and I want the Earth to swallow me whole. Love is pointless, it always ends up being destroyed at the end. Kind of like reading a novel, but more intense.

“No,” I lie.

“Liar,” she says, seeing right through me. “I know you like him.”

I scoff and stare at the grass beneath us. “Get to the point.”

“He thinks you’re cute,” Mabel whispers. “Wants to take you to prom.”

I snort. “Yeah. If this is some sort of prank, target someone else.” I begin to stand up but her hand captures my wrist and pulls me down again.

“I’m being serious!” She exclaims. “Bill wants to take you to prom next week—”

“I don’t care if he does,” I tell her. “There’s no way in hell I’m going!”

* * *

 

I can’t believe I’m going.

Mabel dragged me to every store in town, trying on outfits and smelling perfumes and practicing dance moves, and I want to die.

Shoot me.

The thought of hitting the dancefloor in Bill’s arms makes my face turn red but also fills me with extreme dread.

Bill is _popular_ ; there isn’t a single person at our school that doesn’t know him. Everybody loves him. He never walks the halls alone. He’s extremely confident and unafraid to show the whole world who he really is. He came out by chanting “ _Hello, I’m queer, and now I’m here!_ ” at the top of his lungs while waving a large pride flag behind him, skipping and hopping down the school’s hallways. During class.

In other words, I’m nothing like him.

I have no friends at school. The thought of anyone _looking_ at me sends me into a nervous sweat, and I wouldn’t _dare_ flaunt my homosexuality in front of everyone. I’ve never even said a single word to Bill, and Mabel’s telling me he wants to take me to prom?

None of this adds up.

My mind swims as I check my phone again. 2 am.

I lazily place my earbuds back in my ears and continue listening to the Top 40 Hits when I hear a faint knocking on the window. Glancing to the left, the window looks normal; all the light is still coming through, it doesn’t look like anyone was ever there. Dismissing it as my paranoia, I shift my attention back to my music.

Until, of course, it happens again.

This time, a human-like figure is at the window and I almost scream in terror. Panicked, I pull my earbuds out and whisper-yell Mabel’s name, though she doesn’t wake up.

Suddenly, the window flies open and I’m ready to throw the nearest sharp object across the room. I’m greeted by a smiling face that looks startlingly familiar—

“Bill?!”

“Hey, Pine Tree.”

I sit on my bed, absolutely mortified, and wondering if Mabel knows anything about this. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He swiftly makes his way over to my bed and his smile is sending a million pulses of electricity down my spine. “Thought you could use a little joyride.”

“ _What?!_ ” I glance at Mabel, who is inexplicably still fast asleep in her bed. “ _Did my sister put you up to this?_ ”

“Of course not,” he says casually, running a thumb along my cheek and I’m ashamed for liking it. I would bat his hand away but something inside me is screaming with happiness so instead, I sit there, frozen. “She has no idea I’m here.”

“Why _are_ you here?”

“Heard that you’ve got the hots for me, kid.” His response makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. “And I’ve always thought you were cute.”

My cheeks burn hotter than the sun. I back away from him slowly and press myself against the wall. “Who told you that?”

Bill chuckles softly. “Who do you think?”

Mabel.

My mouth suddenly becomes dry and I’m unable to make human noise.

Bill takes my hand. His skin is warm. “Come with me.” He leads me towards the window and proceeds to jump out, landing on the roof.

“C’mon, Pine Tree! What are you waiting for?”

“Death,” I say without realizing.

Bill laughs, then does something I don’t see coming. He jumps and catches my wrist with his hand and pulls me down, out of the window, into his arms. Fear flashes across my face as I fall.

Somebody, please shoot me.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Pine Tree?”

“Why do you keep calling me Pine Tree?”

“You always wear that cute little pine tree hat,” he says as he runs his thumb across my forehead. I suck in my breath, hoping to every god of every religion that he doesn’t notice—

“What’s this?”

Fuck me.

I stutter. “A—a birthm—mark.”

He grins. “Is this why you’re called Dipper?”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “Y—yeah. I got the nickname when I was f—five.”

Bill gives me a quizzical look. “So, what’s your real name?”

“Mason.” I cringe.

He hums happily. “ _Mason._ ” His voice sugarcoats the five letters in such a sweet way. Nobody’s ever said my name like that. Suddenly, I _like_ the sound of my name for the first time in years.

Bill must notice that I like it. “Can I call you Mason?”

No. “Sure.”

I look down and realize my legs are wrapped around his body. I instinctively jump off of his body and my arms come to rest at my sides. I stare at the roof beneath us in shame.

He takes my hand again. “Come on, let’s go on a joyride in my Lexus.”

I say nothing as we parkour our way to the ground and get into his car. One word comes to mind as I scan the interior of his vehicle: expensive. The leather seats are pristine; not a single spot or stain anywhere, suggesting he likes to keep things squeaky clean. It’s spacious, so there’s actually room for my legs, unlike my old car, which is 10 years too old. It’s very impressive. It never occurred to me before that Bill is wealthy.

Sucking in my breath, I place my hands in my lap without asking where we’re going or why we’re going there. Bill glances at me as he presses the ENGINE START/STOP button, but doesn’t initiate a conversation. The moonlight shines through the window as we begin cruising down the streets of Gravity Falls, Oregon.

 Bill presses a few buttons on the car’s large touchscreen panel between us, and opens up Spotify. He hits “Shuffle” and an unfamiliar song begins to play.

I focus on his face for the first time tonight. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “Don’t worry about that. I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

Heat rises to my cheeks again. My mind threatens to explode as it bursts with a million different possibilities of what our destination could be. Mabel said he wanted to take me to prom. If that’s true, this must be a prom-posal.

I don’t know how I would react to that.

I just hope that if this _is_ a prom-posal, that I don’t act like a motherfucking weirdo.

“So Mabel really didn’t tell you to do this?”

“I’m not the kind of person that takes orders, Mason,” he says. “I’m the kind of person that gives them.”

I tense a little and decide not to respond. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on the rhythm of the music as I continue to contemplate what the future has in store for me.


	2. Mac n' Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at updating, I know. Please enjoy.

#  **2 | Mac n' Cheese**

##  **DIPPER**

“We’re here.”

Bill kills the ignition and leaves the car. Slowly, I unbuckle my seatbelt and follow him. “Where have you taken me? It doesn’t look like anything is here.”

“It’s a beach, Mason,” he says, the slightest of grins appearing on his face. “Come with me.” Bill holds out his hand to me, and I flush as I take it.

We walk for a few minutes in silence on the beach. The air is chilly; not enough to make you want to put on a jacket, but definitely not warm. The wind hits our faces as the water splashes onto the sand. It’s a beautiful sight, but it simply raises more questions about why I’m here. I open my mouth to ask, but decide against it. I wouldn’t want to bother him. If this  _ is  _ a promposal, I wouldn’t want to annoy him and make him change his mind.

“Over here,” he says, and he gestures to a small wooden shack with a single lamp lit next to the door. Bill opens the door and gestures for me to enter, letting go of my hand.

“Where am I?” I ask awkwardly, taking in the interior of the shack. It looks like a cottage. There’s a large futon in the center, a fireplace, a coffee table, and a kitchenette. It’s dimly lit; the only light is coming from the fire and the two candles on the kitchen table.

“My dad owns this beach,” he says as he closes the door. “Built this mini house so we would have a place to stay overnight if we ever wanted to.”

I tilt my head in confusion, hoping I don’t sound like a broken record. “And why am I here?”

Bill can’t keep the smirk off his face. “I have something to ask you, but I’m not going to ask you.”

My stomach drops to my legs. “What?”

“I left clues around the house,” he says. “Mabel says you’re good at solving codes and ciphers.” Bill pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s your first clue. While you solve it, I’m going to make us dinner.”

I look up at him. “You like to cook?”

“Yeah!” he says. “It’s a hobby of mine. Mom taught me everything I know.” Bill makes his way to the kitchenette and turns on the lights, pre-heating the oven and pulling equipment out of the cabinets. 

I look down at the piece of paper he gave me. It reads:

12-15-15-11 21-14-4-5-18 20-8-5 6-21-20-15-14.

I immediately recognize it as the A1Z26 cipher, the method of encoding secret messages by replacing a letter with the corresponding number. A becomes one, B becomes two, C becomes three, and so on. I begin to mentally decode the message, wishing I had a pen to better organize my thoughts.

Twelve. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K,  **L.** Fifteen. L, M, N,  **O** . Fifteen,  **O** . Eleven. L, **K** .

I notice there isn’t a dash between 11 and 21, meaning that must be the end of the word. 

**LOOK**

Twenty-one. O, P, Q, R, S, T,  **U** . Fourteen, O,  **N** . Four,  **D** . Five,  **E** . Eighteen, O, P, Q,  **R** .

**LOOK UNDER**

Twenty-eight-five always translates to “the”. I’ve memorized it since it’s such a common occurrence. 

**LOOK UNDER THE**

Six.  **F** .

My eyes glance over to the futon. “Look under the futon?” I think aloud.

“Wow,” Bill says. “Mabel never told me you would get it so quickly.”

I smile a little as I get on my knees to look under the futon. A small piece of paper is folded up next to the right leg. I grab it and unfold the paper, only to find a new cipher. 

**Dvn Eloo iru pdf'q'fkhhvh.**

A few different possibilities run through my mind. It could be a foreign language, but the letters look too random to be pronounceable. It could be the Caesar cipher, a code where all the letters are shifted to the left by three, so A becomes D, B becomes E, et cetera. It could also be the Atbash cipher, which reverses the alphabet so A becomes Z. Atbash seems too obvious, though. And Bill probably wanted this to be  _ somewhat _ difficult.

“Bill, do you have a pen?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, putting down a skillet and walking over to the desk, pulling out a ballpoint pen and handing it to me. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

I write out the alphabet on the paper, then shift the letters to the left by three.

**A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z** **  
** **D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C**

D is  **A** , V is  **S** , and N is  **K** .

**ASK**

E is B, L is I and O is L.

**ASK BILL**

I is  **F** , R is  **O** , and U is  **R** .

**ASK BILL FOR**

P is  **M** , D is  **A** and F is  **C** .

**ASK BILL FOR MAC**

As Bill is a cook, I’m guessing the rest of the phrase is “Ask Bill for mac’n’cheese.” I look up at Bill, who is working at the stove. “Hey, Bill,” I ask somewhat shyly, “can I have some mac’n’cheese?”

Bill flashes me a handsome smile as he tosses me an empty box of Kraft Mac ‘n’ Cheese. “Impressive, Mason.”

I catch it in my hands after almost dropping it. The front of the box has a large grid with many squares inside drawn with a thin permanent marker. On the back, more cryptic letters are written. 

**yppp qsw ns xg ttvq aaxj ti?**

It suddenly clicks that this is the Vigenère cipher, and I have to use the grid to solve the code.

The Vigenère cipher isn’t as simple as most other codes. It involves the use of a twenty-six-by-twenty-six grid known as the Vigenère square (which is filled in with the letters of the alphabet) to decode the message. Each Vigenère cipher has a keyword used to decode it. One would take the first letter of the coded text and the first letter of the keyword and find where the two intersect on the grid.

I turn the box around and grab my pen to fill in the blank grid, writing the alphabet a million times over until the entire grid is completely filled. Now, the only problem is, what’s the keyword?

I try the first word that comes to mind: CHEESE. “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have some paper?”

“Uh…” He looks around until he eventually finds an index card and hands it to me.

“Thanks.”

I write out the cryptic letters “yppp qsw ns xg ttvq aaxj ti?” and below, I repeatedly write “cheese”.

**YPP QSW NS XG TTVQ AAXJ TI** **  
** **CHE ESE CH EE SECH EESE CH**

Looking at the Vigenère square, I see that Y and C intersect at A. P and H intersect at W. P and E intersect at T.

**AWT**

I frown. This doesn’t seem to be forming a word.

I decide to pull out my phone and use an online decoder. Bill never said that was against the rules, so anything’s fair game.

Chrome opens and I type “vigenere cipher decoder” in the search bar and quickly find a website that promises to decode the message. In the field labeled “plaintext” I type the cryptic message, and in “keyword” I type “cheese”, then tap “DECODE”.

My heart stops at the text displayed on my screen.

“Bill?”

“Yes, Mason?”

I stand up, still in shock. “I solved it.”

He looks into my soul with his golden-brown eyes. “Will you?”

I turn redder than a fire truck as I stare down at the floor, knowing there’s only one possible answer for a promposal so well-thought out. “Yes.” The word sounds dry, like it was strained, but it makes him happy nonetheless.

He walks over to me and holds my hands in his. “Thank you, Mason.” Then he presses a kiss to my cheek, and the world fades away.

I never knew this level of intoxication was possible, to be captivated and held hostage by one single touch, to be trapped in a trance of shock and excitement caused only by the touch of someone’s lips on my cheek. I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. I never thought it was possible.

Bill seems to ignore my shock as he returns to the kitchenette, pouring the foods into bowls. “So, would you like some mac n’ cheese?”


	3. Something's Severely Wrong With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI.  
> WOW.  
> 3 AND A HALF MONTHS  
>  _ **3 AND A HALF MONTHS**_
> 
> WITHOUT UPDATING??
> 
> I'M SO SORRY
> 
> (AT LEAST YOU GOT _I HAVE TOO MANY FUCKS TO GIVE ABOUT THIS MARRIAGE_ THO, THAT'S GOOD)
> 
> ENJOY 1880 WORDS WORTH OF ANGSTY LOW SELF-ESTEEM DIPPY

#  **3 | Something’s Severely Wrong With Me**

##  **DIPPER**

For fuck’s sake, what the hell did I get myself into?!

It’s the morning after Bill’s promposal, and I’m second-guessing myself. A million different ways the prom could go wrong pass through my mind. Ten billion possibilities for how Bill could dump me in front of everyone and tell me it was all a lie, all a joke, that I could go home now and never speak to him again. Too many worries, too many different scenarios that would ruin my life forever.

Naturally, I’ve stayed quiet about it.

I genuinely love Bill. He was fun to be around--albeit my crippling anxieties--the night he committed a misdemeanor by breaking and entering into my house  _ via my fucking bedroom window _ at two in the morning. I didn’t expect to have a good time; I really thought he was just going to pull some stupid shit that would convince me to walk home without him, or I would say something that would’ve ruined it for him and he would’ve made me walk home. Instead, I had a fun time eating mac n’ cheese with him and talking about  _ so _ many things I didn’t know we had in common. I had no idea Bill was also a nerd.

But even though things went well with him last night, I can’t shake the feeling that this was provoked by someone or something.

The idea that Bill is just being dared to do this--or bribed by someone like Mabel--is eating me alive and I can’t shake it off. It’s definitely more realistic than what Bill has made it seem: a popular kid falling in love with the dorky nerd. If it turned out to be true, I wouldn't be shocked at all, just disappointed and depressed.

I lie in bed, staring at the alarm clock that sits on my nightstand. It’s 6 in the morning, so Mabel’s still fast asleep. But I never get any sleep. My thoughts are always too crowded for me to relax, and today’s no different.

I want to wake up Mabel and talk to her about how I’m feeling, but I don’t want to bother her. She always goes to sleep super late; she must be extremely tired. Instead, I keep silent and wait patiently.

I wish I had someone else to talk to other than Mabel. She’s not always around; she tends to be out with her friends or on a date with some new guy or girl she insists is “The One” but then breaks up with three days later. I wish I had a best friend to confide in--someone that I’m close to, that I can go to whenever I need. Someone that I can text in the middle of the night and vent to about all the bullshit that happened in the day. Someone that can comfort me and make me feel like it’s all gonna be okay.

That sounds like a boyfriend, I know, and if I were to say this to Mabel, she would say that she’s that person. And if I were to tell her that I wanted someone other than her, she would say Bill will be that person.

But that’s exactly the problem.

I don’t know if Bill  _ really _ wants to be that person. And I don’t even know if I  _ want  _ him to be that person for me.

That’s another thing I’m worried about: why I said yes. Was it because I actually want to be in a relationship with him, or was it because I felt pressured because he put so much effort into the promposal?

I’m not doubting whether or not I have a crush on Bill; I really do genuinely love him, and being his boyfriend  _ would _ be nice if I weren’t such a stress-filled piece of shit. Social anxiety has been holding me hostage ever since the moment I was born. I’m unable to even  _ think  _ about going to a party without wanting to cry and/or having a panic attack. Meeting new people is an ordeal. I couldn’t start a conversation if my life depended on it.

I’m scared that, if I become his boyfriend, I’ll be dragged into his spotlight next to him. People will want to talk to me, expect me to go to parties with him, follow me on social media, y’know,  _ that _ bullshit. I’ll become popular, just like Bill.

And I don’t want to become popular.

I want to stay inside my secluded bubble of my hobbies that I barely even let Mabel into. It’s way more comfortable, and--this is the best part-- _ I don’t have to deal with other people’s bullshit. _ If I dated Bill, there would be a very high likelihood that people would start to bully us, for multiple reasons. They’d bully Bill for dating the “nerd” or possibly for being gay. And I just  _ know _ they’d bully  _ me _ for the millions of things that are wrong with me, and I wouldn't know what to say, and I’d just stand there with a dumb look on my face and turn red as fuck and look down at the ground and hope they walk away but no they just stand there and laugh and laugh and laugh at me because I’m not good enough and I can never ever be good enough for anyone I’ve never been good enough never been good enough never been good enough

Suddenly, my heart palpitates, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I take a deep breath and rub my temples, feeling a panic attack come on. I don’t want to spiral myself into a dark world where everything and everyone is turned against me. I’ve had enough of those for two lifetimes.

My phone buzzes in my pocket (I thought I had put it on my nightstand?). I turn on the screen and see the notification displayed on my lockscreen.

It’s from a number I don’t recognize, and I almost block and dismiss it until I actually read the message. 

**6:21 AM** \- Hey Dipper this is Bill

I almost scream, but stop myself when I remember Mabel’s asleep.

_ How do I respond to this? _

My fingers fumble as I try typing out the only message I can think of.

**6:21 AM** \-  _ Hi _

**6:21 AM** \-  _ How did u get my number i never gave it to you _

I immediately regret hitting  **Send** . I probably came off as arrogant or angry. I stare blankly at the message I sent him, numbly. He probably won’t respond.

I set the phone down and bury my face inside my pillow. I just want to sleep more and forget about last night.

Things would’ve been better had I just called the police or something like that.

I squeak when my phone buzzes.

**6:24 AM** \- Lol Mabel gave it to me :)))))))

I cringe as I scowl in her direction. I’ll talk to her later.

**6:24 AM** \-  _ Ofc she did smh _

**6:24 AM** \- :))))

**6:24 AM -** anyway

**6:24 AM** \- do you wanna hang out after school today

**6:24 AM** \- maybe go on a lil date if u want

I’m going to faint.

How the hell is this happening to me? The more Bill shows interest in me or does something affectionate, it makes me suspicious. I just can’t wrap my head around why he wants to date  _ me _ .  _ Me, _ of all people. There are a lot more attractive guys that are worth Bill’s time than me.

I am a slob that spends his time reading fanfiction, drowning himself in fictional gay romances, watching movies, and binge-watching television shows. I’ve never even uttered a word to him before--or anyone at school--and now he says he wants to date me?

Something’s seriously up.

I’m tempted to send him a text asking, “Why are you doing this?” or something along that line, but I’m too scared of rejection if that happens.

Actually, I’m scared of rejection no matter what I do.

**6:26 AM** \-  _ Sure _

He responds almost immediately:

**6:26 AM** \- Ill pick u up at 7pm?

**6:27 AM** \-  _ okay _

I instantly regret saying “okay” without thinking about it first. I can’t go on a fucking  _ date  _ with Bill, it will convince him to dump me and move on to someone else more worth his time (which I almost hope he’ll do, but the rejection would still hurt). I’ll be anxious and restless. I won’t be able to calm down. I’ll second-guess everything I say. I’ll be self-conscious about the way I eat. Everything about me will be pathetic, and it’ll be on full display.

I don’t want to go on this date. The only thing that could come out of it is lower self esteem and the realization of an awful decision.

Mabel suddenly stirs in her bed, making an odd sound that sounds like the halfway point between a grunt and a yawn. She sits up in bed, her hair tangled and messy, draping over her face like a curtain.

“Mabel?”

“What?” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes and flopping back down on the mattress to stretch all her limbs out.

My heart thuds twice. “Help me.”

She turns her head to face me. “With what?”

“Bill asked me out on a date and I said yes.”

Any ounce of tiredness still left in her system magically vanishes as she leaps up out of her bed and books it to my side. She squeals in delight, and her voice is so ear-piercingly high and loud, I don’t even know what she just said. I rub my fingers against my temples and say, “Calm the hell down,  _ please _ . I’d rather keep my hearing.”

Mabel jumps up and down with giddiness for what feels like forever, and it makes me feel even more nauseous.

Suddenly, she stops and gasps, her eyes as big as pie plates. “You don’t have any date clothes!”

I blink twice. “Of course I don’t, who do you think you’re talking t--”

She abruptly yanks my arm and pulls me out of bed, leading me to the door. “We need to go shopping today! Come on, Dippy!”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” I shout, trying to break free of her death grip on my arm. I think she already cut off the blood flow to my hand. “We have  _ school _ today!”

“Oh, who needs to know all of that nonsense?” she says dismissively, waving a hand at me as if  _ commiting truancy _ wasn’t a serious crime. “Love is more important than any grade could EVER be!”

“But--”

Mabel yanks on my arm harder as she opens the door and practically drags me down the stairs. “No buts! We’re going to make you look good for your first date!”

“Mabel, WAIT!”

She huffs and turns back to face me. “What?”

“I’m still in my pyjamas. You’d let me go out in public like this?”

“What’s the big deal?” she says, gesturing to her own pyjamas. “I’m gonna go out like this!”

I stand up and brush myself off. “Fine, I won’t fight you on the whole skipping-school thing, but if we’re gonna do this, at least let me get changed first.”

Mabel looks at the clock on the wall. “Five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting, Dippy bro-bro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a mental goal in mind to post at least every two weeks. Hopefully I'll be sticking to it.


	4. I'm Not Sure Committing Truancy Is Worth It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Six days, wow. Better than 3.5 months :)  
> I'm really glad that I was able to kick out this chapter in a shorter amount of time than usual. But I can't promise this will be a trend.  
> We'll see what happens.  
> Enjoy another 2k words of low self-esteem Dippy!

#  **4 | I’m Not Sure Committing Truancy Is Worth It**

##  **DIPPER**

“Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?”

“Hush, Dippy,” Mabel says as she drives us to the mall. The Top 40 Hits play loudly on the radio. It somewhat helps my nerves, but anxiety isn’t resolved simply by listening to music you enjoy. “I’m  _ positive _ this is a  _ wonderful _ idea. School doesn’t teach you anything you’ll need to know. To be an adult, you need to know how to do your taxes, how to cook, and how to change a tire. Can ninety minutes of science class teach you that?” Mabel glances at me repeatedly as she speaks, trying to keep her eyes on the road (which I appreciate).

When I stay silent, mistaking it for a rhetorical question, she says, “Well? Can it?”

I blink twice. “O--oh. No.”

“My point exactly,” Mabel says with a big, infectious smile. “Skipping school is no big deal. Tomorrow, you can just tell them you were sick.”

“What about Grunkle Stan? Won’t he get mad if he finds out we’re skipping school? I mean, he was still asleep when we left!”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Mabel says, dismissing my worries with a careless wave of her hand. “And besides, even if he does find out, he won’t care. He agrees with me.”

“My family is a lot more irresponsible than I previously thought.”

She scoffs and pretends to be offended. “ _ Dipper! _ How could you?! We’re not  _ irresponsible _ , we’re  _ smart! _ ” She slugs me in the arm, but it doesn’t hurt the same way it used to.

As soon as we step into the mall, unpleasant memories come rushing back and I suddenly feel like I need to leave. I’ve never been a fan of malls--or any public, open space at all--but I loathe this particular shopping center much more than the rest.

Mabel always-- _ always _ \--takes at least four hours to shop here. And I’m not exaggerating. I swear to God, it takes her hours to find a dress that meets all of her requirements: A, it’s cute, B, it fits, and C, it’s affordable. And once she finds one, suddenly she finds ten other ones she wants to try on. And it takes her a total of two years to try each one on and find the three things she hates about it, and they’re typically about the same thing.

“It makes me look too fat!”

“It shows too much cleavage! I don’t wanna attract perverts!”

“It doesn’t go with the shoes I like!”

Every time she says no to a dress, an angel loses its wings.

Thankfully, we’re not here for her, we’re here for me. And it doesn’t take me long to choose clothes, because the only standards I have for clothes is that they cover what needs to be covered and don’t make me look stupid. I’ve never understood and will never understand Mabel’s obsession with fashion. There’s literally nothing interesting about it. It’s just what people are  _ wearing. _ So what?

I instinctively grab Mabel’s arm as if it’s a lifeline as we step into the mall. She heads straight for Kohl’s.

“Mabel?”

“Hm?”

“Can you promise me that you won’t make me suffer?”

“You’re  _ already  _ suffering.”

I bite my tongue and cringe. She’s right. “Can you please just make this quick? I don’t wanna spend all day here. He said 7 pm, so we’ve got to be out of here at noon at the absolute latest. Promise me we’ll be out here by lunchtime?”

She sighs. “Shopping for clothes is an art form, Dippy. You mustn’t rust it.”

I scoff. “ _ Shopping for clothes is an art form?! _ Do you hear yourself? That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” she says, swatting me away like she’s a queen and I’m a peasant. “Just trust me! No matter how long it takes us to shop here, it’ll be worth it in the end!”

We enter Kohl's, and Mabel's smile noticeably grows. I roll my eyes and use my only free hand to grab my wireless earbuds out of my jacket pocket, looping them around my neck and pressing down on the play button to turn them on.

As I'm sticking one of the earbuds in my ears, Mabel groans. “C'mon, Dipper! You need to be paying attention!”

“No, I don't,” I tell her. “You're the one doing the shopping.”

“But the shopping is for you!”

“I'm willing to bet that you're going to find a dress you think is cute and try it on within the next five mi—”

“Oh my gosh!” she squeals suddenly. “Look at this!”

Attention span of a moth.

She runs over to a large pink dress that's on display near the entrance. “Isn't this cute?!”

I want to cry.

When I don't respond, Mabel turns around and shouts my name loudly, even though we're five feet away from each other. “DIPPER!”

I squeak and jump back. “Gah! What?!”

“Isn't this dress cute?!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? And did you even hear what I was saying before you saw that dress?”

“What?”

I facepalm. “I said, 'I'm willing to bet that you're going to find a dress you think is cute and try it on within the next five minutes,’ and look what happened!”

She scoffs and walks back over to me, reluctantly leaving the dress behind. “Fine. We'll shop only for  _ you _ .”

“Why are you upset?! You said that's why we were here in the first place!”

“But is it such a crime to look for something that I might want to wear? I don’t get to come here very often, y’know!”

“You spent ten hours here three days ago with all of your friends.”

“Hush,” she says, taking my hand again. "Just trust me. This won't be a waste of time."

I'm too tired to tell her that I know she's lying.

* * *

 

Ten shirts.

Ten.

Shirts.

And we're still not done.

I sit on the chair inside my dressing room, staring at the tenth shirt I've tried on today, angrily and impatiently thrown to the floor. Every two seconds, Mabel throws another shirt over the door for me to try on. I don't even like any of them. They all look the same to me: standard button-down collar shirt. Some are bigger than others, some are slightly different colors than others. I don't really see a difference in any of them.

And the thing that bothers me most about this is, Bill's not going to care what I look like on the date. Knowing him, he'd probably show up in a t-shirt and ripped jeans, half-drunk and unshowered.

I hear footsteps coming towards my dressing room door, followed by yet another shirt being thrown over the door. "Here's another one!"

"Are we going to be done anytime soon?"

"What did I tell you earlier?"

I groan. "Shopping for clothes is an art from and I mustn't rush it," I mumble unintelligibly.

"What was that?" Mabel almost shouts.

"Can you just pick a shirt already?! I don't get why it's so hard for you to just choose one!"

"Because I'm not totally sure about any of them yet! If you don't love it in the store, you'll hate wearing it!"

"I'm going to hate it no matter WHAT you choose for me! Just choose anything that won't make me look stupid and we'll call it a day!"

Mabel groans. "I just want you to look your best on your first date, Dippy. Why is that so wrong?"

There are traces of hurt in her voice, and I suddenly feel awful for snapping at her. I sigh and run two hands across my face, trying to relax. "I'm sorry, Mabel. I just don't think this is important."

"You asked for my help!"

"Yes, I did. I said, 'Help me.' And I would've finished talking, but then you started screaming and dragged me out of bed and into your car."

Mabel pauses for a short second. "That's not what happened--"

"No, that's exactly what happened."

"What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say, 'Help me get out of this.'"

I think I hear her gasp. If she did, it was very quiet. "Put your clothes back on. We shouldn't be talking about this here."

* * *

 

A few minutes later, I meet Mabel outside the dressing room, a plethora of clothes in my hands. "Where do I put these?"

"Just throw them down there." She points to a basket, with a sign that reads, "Didn't Like It? Throw them here, we'll take care of the rest!"

I put them down and face Mabel again. "Why would you want to get out of this?"

"Because of... reasons."

Mabel rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I want to know the reasons, pinhead."

I sigh. "I don't think I'm ready to go on a date like this. I'm not prepared. I can barely start a conversation with you, let alone someone that I want to go out with. And I don't know if Bill's just doing this out of pity, or if someone put him up to it or something like that. Him, suddenly wanting to go on a date with me...it just feels weird. It kind of came out of nowhere. There's gotta be another reason for why he would want to go out with me and take me to prom. And another thing--"

"Sweet God, you have problems!"

Her explanation catches me off guard and I stop talking. "Dipper, why is it so hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that you're enjoyable?"

"What?"

Mabel runs a hand through her hair. "Dipper, I don't know why you think it's such a crazy idea that someone wants to spend time with you. I mean, I know that you’re awkward and everything, but...this is a problem.”

“I know I have a problem. But what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Get help! Y’know, you’re not the only person like this. A lot of people get anxiety over situations that aren’t big deals.”

“Who am I supposed to ask?”

Mabel stops and thinks for a moment. “Honestly, I’m not sure. A therapist, I guess, but those are hard to find in Gravity Falls. We can look for someone for you to work with. In the meantime, just know I’m here.” She offers me a small smile.

“Thanks, Mabel.”

“No problem, dork.” Her smile grows wide as she stretches her arms out. “Awkward sibling hug?”

I stretch my arms out too. “Awkward sibling hug.”

We embrace each other with our eyes open wide, then pat each other’s backs while robotically saying, “Pat, pat.”

We leave the store soon after. Even though the talk with Mabel did relax my nerves a bit, it did reignite one of the things I was worrying about this morning: that Mabel isn’t  _ always _ there whenever I need her. She’s a very busy and social person, and because of that, there’s no  _ one _ person I can count on at any time to talk to.

It seems that because Mabel decided to buy me a black collar shirt and black dress pants, I’m definitely going on this date, whether I’m prepared to or not. I can’t help but feel like she’s throwing me into this like a lamb to the slaughter, blindly and without second thought. And when one of my worries returns to the front of my consciousness, suddenly all of them do, too.

And once we’re back home, I’m not feeling any better than when we left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you tell this chapter was written by a guy having flashbacks to when his mom and sister would take hours shopping at Kohl's? Cause I can.


End file.
